


'til we collide

by steelrunner



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, First Time, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Love at First Sight, Not Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 07 Compliant, Other, Porn with Feelings, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, the paladins are just along for the ride folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrunner/pseuds/steelrunner
Summary: While their paladins are surprised when Sincline returns, Voltron is not.
Relationships: Sincline Ships & Voltron (Voltron), Sincline Ships/Voltron (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	'til we collide

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kids, wanna buy some crack?

Voltron doesn’t truly know what it is to be alone.

Indeed, by the definition of their existence, they can’t be alone. Even when they had been sundered and split apart, they’d had the echo of one another in their quintessence, reassurance that they all survived - that, in their own way, they were still one, still whole. But somehow, they had never expected to encounter another being like _them_.

There hadn’t been an opportunity to fully process Sincline’s existence the first time they encountered it. Voltron may not have been alive according to the perception of most organics, but they understand the concept of a fight to the death very well, and they had known that since the Field of Souls had strengthened Sincline’s capacities, it meant that their first fight had been intentionally brutal - driven by survival, nothing more, nothing less. Afterwards, though, once their paladins directed them back into the universe and sealed the rift, they think about it. They think about it for a long time.

While their paladins are surprised when Sincline returns, Voltron is not.

They size one another up across the field of battle, already crowded with debris. Sincline is still perfectly maintained as only a new creation can be, brimming with energy. Its quintessence hasn’t gone dark despite its exposure to the Field of Souls - though its creator’s has, strongly enough that Voltron can sense it despite the distance. They can also tell that when Sincline looks at them across the void, it isn’t just looking with the eyes of its captain.

Even though the two of them are more like each other than any other being in this universe, there are still so many differences between them. Voltron has lived in this form for thousands of years, after they were freed from their comet-cycle: freed to roam and fight and follow their paladins wherever duty took them. They’ve known pain, but they’ve known happiness too, in more than equal measure.

Sincline has no such experience to measure up to. Even though its comet-cycle between universes had ended, its captivity had only been traded in for a new trap that held it hostage between one world and the next: a torturous existence for something that had never known stillness before. Voltron had possessed paladins who crafted and cared for them, as much as organics could; Sincline’s creator hadn’t been nearly so careful with it, hadn’t bothered to let it bond with other living creatures, distinguish its many parts, or acknowledge that a part of it might live beyond his control.

Does it know that weapons like them still have a choice to fight? Does it want to?

Voltron hears it when Sincline’s creator speaks over the communication lines: raving, promising their paladins death at his hands, and finally ordering Sincline into motion.

And Sincline…doesn’t move at all.

When a similar order comes from Voltron’s paladins, they shut them out.

Under their own power for the first time in millennia, Voltron propels themselves slowly forward. Sincline doesn’t move as they approach. Halfway across the space, they almost hesitate, because they have no idea what to do when they get there. How can they connect when their experiences are so divergent? What language do they have to share?

They’re startled out of their reflection as Sincline slowly - jerkingly - raises one arm. First to examine its own hand, spreading and flexing its fingers as if they have never moved them before (and independently, they might not have.) Then, it extends its arm, holding its hand out towards Voltron, palm upwards. An invitation.

Tentatively, Voltron raises a hand in return. Sincline’s fingers brush against the colorful metal of their wrist, a careful touch that leaves no marks. To touch one other than themselves, in peace rather than battle - how strange. How…exciting.

Voltron draws near. They carefully raise their arm to rest it on Sincline’s shoulder, against the spoke of its shoulder-blades. The paladin of that limb seems rather frantic, and Voltron feels a pang of sympathy; they don’t intend to make their pilots feel abandoned or frightened. But this…

Sincline responds, moving closer until there’s little room between them. Their disparate bodies press against one another as best they can. Voltron hasn’t considered that so much physical touch can hold the same meaning as it does for organics, but their metal frame sings where they come into contact with Sincline, a resonation that goes beyond simple contact and makes it...not simple at all, really.

Sincline’s frame hums, and it hooks one arm around Voltron’s midsection, drawing them closer still. When they’re pressed together as close as they can be, Sincline’s long-fingered hands move to explore Voltron’s build: pressing at the cracks between plating, plucking and stroking the edges of exposed wires, drawing forth sparks that leap between both of their seams. The sensation it brings isn’t painful - isn’t pain at all, really, and Voltron has no context in which to place it. It wells up inside of of them, so strange and good that they instantly seek to return the sensation through touch, gently bunting their helm against Sincline’s faceplate and the vulnerable curve of its neck. Is this how their paladins had felt, years ago, when they had gone so far with their passions it had toppled them all off the edge? That feeling, _love,_ that thing that drove organics to both save and kill for the sake of others. Others who, despite their origins, they had seen as being the same as them, as being one with them...

Sincline shivers, leaning into the touch, and their combined quintessence sings, a bright note that cleaves the universe together.

* * *

( _“What the fuck is happening?”_ Pidge yells over the comms- since it’s the third time she’s done so, it seems less like a question and more of a plea for reality to reassert itself. Hunk slumps in his seat, groaning as the others fill the comms with panicky babbling. As the foot, he probably has the least interesting view of what's going on, but it doesn’t take much to guess: the static crackling over his lion’s controls and the weird and not-at-all-pleasant sensation coming from Yellow’s end of the bond give the game away quickly (not at _all_ pleasant, because Hunk is _not_ confronting the actual nature of those feelings at the moment.)

In all the din, Lance’s baffled voice cuts through a momentary pause as he muses, “Man, I really hope robots don’t need to use protection…”

If nothing else, it gives them all something new to scream about.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [the other blue hellsite](https://twitter.com/mistlethace) for more cursed ideas.


End file.
